


Point-Blank

by DeathDirt



Series: I'm Only Human, After All: Roleswapped Reaper76 [2]
Category: overwatch
Genre: Gabriel "Why Am I Not Dead" Reyes, Gore, Jack "I'm a Piece of Shit" Morrison, M/M, Roleswap, also warning is kind of a joke tag but just in case, dramatic sequence breaks, gore tw, nanite bullshit, oh well, this is kinda crappy but I felt like writing it so, warning is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: Guess Reaper finally gets to kill 76...





	Point-Blank

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of gore, so be careful.

Blood coats his mouth as Soldier: 76 stumbles behind a heavy crate. Part of it was his own fault. Y'know... The whole 'fist' part of 'Doomfist'. Probably shouldn't have gotten as close as he did. His head swims with muddled thoughts and words, trying to keep him alive without retaining the ability. So much for a quick fight. "Hey, you alright there, 76?!" Who was it, who was yelling, someone was calling for him. His vision is still flashing with dancing lights, can't even see the HUD on his visor. "Soldier?! You all there, love?" There's a hand on his arm. He's been found.

No, they can't find him, they _can't_ -

Finally, his vision clears, and it's Tracer that's been calling for him, now gently grabbing his shoulders from her short stature. And, frankly, looking quite silly standing on her toes to comfort the vigilante. "Fine," the soldier roughly grunts, jerking out of the Brit's grip. "You don't hafta do anymore, love, we got this." She's a sweet girl. Always has been. But there's no reason to cheat the team of one member just because he took a hit and didn't see it coming. 

"Fine," he repeats, sprinting away before Tracer can catch up to him. The faster he gets back to the fight, the faster this whole thing is over, and so the faster he can get back to his usual stint at a bar. He quickly ducks into what seems to be a management building, nearly colliding with another body. "Fuck, Lena, I'm fine, just-"

"You're about to not be so fine." 

Just as Gabriel's head shoots up, there's a deafening _**BANG!!!**_ of gunshot echoing in the building. He staggers, just barely able to keep from dropping to his knees. _Don't look down,_ he thinks to himself, _Once you look down you won't be able to keep going. Once you look down you'll go into shock. You'll go into shock and then you'll really be dead._ But the only other thing to look at is the mask. The bone-white, skullish, fear-inducing mask that haunts him day in and day out, no matter where he goes, how much he drinks, how long the time is between seeing it.

Well. If he's gonna die, he wants to see the damn face before he goes.

His hand lifts, as though it was moving through molasses, and rests against the side of the skull mask. "Let me see," he whispers, barely making a noise. For a moment - much too long of one - Reaper remains silent. The lack of response makes the soldier's hand shake, at first imperceptibly, and then uncontrollably. He grits his teeth, fighting through the white flashes of pain, and chokes out, "If I'm going to die, I want to see who killed me.". Reaper seems to not process the words for a moment, holding completely still. Then his claws come up to slowly wrap around Gabe's wrist. Gabriel worries that he's going to push his hand away, that he'll die without ever really seeing that face, but instead, Reaper leads it under his hood, to the back of his head, and pushed his fingers around the strap that held it in place. 

"Just so you're aware," Reaper finally says, "Once you kick it, I'll be taking that visor off." Soldier can barely manage an annoyed huff. "What do I care," he mutters, voice straining with effort. "It's been long enough. Do whatever you want with me." The soft click makes Gabriel hesitate. He's still losing blood at a horribly fast rate, too fast for his enhanced healing to do anything about it. It's better like this, he decides. Better they get their closure now, as he dies, then bother with trying to work anything out from opposite sides of the field. Gently, like he's revealing a secret so prized that the very thought of any other soul seeing it would kill him, he pulls the strap and edge of the mask forward, tilting it off the mercenary's face. And then...

It's off.

And it's his same baby-faced golden boy from Overwatch infamy.

Obviously a little less alive than he used to be - Jack's mouth is more of a long rip at the right corner, revealing demonically sharp teeth, twin slashes that appear faded against his youthful face, and his skin has a grey touch to it, but it's still him. He's still got an unruly mess of blonde hair sitting on his head. Still got ridiculously blue eyes. If he focuses enough though, he can make out flecks of red in his irises. He's here. He's just...Reaper now. Not Jack Morrison.

It almost hurts him to see it as much as it helps in his dying moments. Black creeps in at the edges of his sight. _Finally,_ he thinks. At least he's seen what he needs to. Time to see the damage... Gabe looks down, and he was in as bad of a condition as he'd felt. His stomach was essentially ripped apart, red practically spilling over his middle and waist. His organs weakly pulsed with the flow of blood. Gabriel scoffs at his own body's feeble attempt at self-preservation. As the blood continues to ooze out, he feels his head get light and his knees get weak. With a full body shudder, Gabe fell to his knees, and would've fallen further had he not had the impulse to reach out and clutch Reaper's leather and armor.

The deadly talons, associated for so long with haunting laughter and a trail of dead bodies, started to lightly graze his scalp as Jack stroked Gabriel's head. It was his job - to kill anyone who got in Talon's way - but that didn't mean he was guiltless in what he did. Gabe was just doing his own job after all. Jack lowers himself to a kneel, letting Gabriel fall into his lap. With his shallow, labored breathing, he didn't have long to wait. Jack huffed. "Lucky bastard," he muttered. With a gentle yet firm hand on Gabe's shoulder, Reaper managed to maneuver him onto his back, still giving the comforting hand running through his hair. "Wh... Why'm-"

"You get to die. I'm just stuck here until the world crumbles to dust." He can't see Gabe's eyes, but he still has the distinct feeling of being looked at. Gabe was a bit of a lovey sap when it came to this. It's why he never saw it coming. Any of it. Gabe lifted his hand to Jack's bare face, reverently stroking his cheek. "Yeah," Gabe croaked, "But you don't want to die...do you Jackie?" His voice is so concerned, so sincere. Reaper can't answer for some time. He's not sure half the time if he's thankful for his neverending life or just bitter. "Depends on the day," he says instead. Gabe can work up a wet coughing laugh, but it's not much. 

Jack lets his gaze wander over the dying body in his lap. The pulse of Gabriel's soul is weak, and only growing weaker by the second. It hurts him a little that the game has finally come to an end. Gabriel was always his endgame, so now that he was off the list... What list even was there? He could kill Ana, Reinhardt, Winston, Mercy, Tracer, Torbjörn... But what was the point? They did nothing against him after all. Hell, on good days he'd argue with himself that Gabe didn't either. But, as the final glimmers of his soul faded, Jack knew that this was just a stepping stone. He'd find something else. He always did.

The final breathy exhale from Gabriel was the most relieved sound that Jack could swear he ever heard from the man. "Goodnight, baby," Jack mumbled. "For all it's worth now, I think I can safely say I still love you. You were an absolute idiot..." Jack sighed, able to work up the barest of smiles that hurt so much to think of. "But I loved you." Jack leaned over the still body and pressed a soft kiss to Gabe's still-warm forehead. "Sleep tight, Gabi," he muttered in the most reverent tone his monstrous body could muster. Now to see the face of his old love one last time. 

He has to prod with his claws for a few seconds before he finds the latch for the detested visor. With a soft click, it disengages, and Jack lifts the tech from Gabe's face. In a mirror of Gabriel when he saw Jack's face, Jack finds the age creeping onto Gabriel's makes him ten times more beautiful. There were old scars that Jack remembers - the slashes across Gabe's nose, a few on his jaw, and then...many that he didn't know. _From the explosion,_ his mind supplies. They have to be. The wrinkles creasing Gabe's eyes and forehead make him seem so much older in his death. A shame, really, that Jack has had to miss out on seeing them develop because Gabe was too dense to realize when the floor was falling out from under him. 

Gabe looks aged, there was no question about that. But like Ana and Reinhardt, he's aged so beautifully that it is hard to really call him old.

Hurried footsteps sound from the stairwell. Light and quick. Jack quickly replaces the mask on his face as Tracer pounds into the room. The stench of blood hits her first, then she sees the scene in front of her. Her arms hang heavy at her sides as she forcefully absorbs everything she sees. Soldier: 76 is on the floor, bleeding out, but it can't be Soldier because it's _Gabe_. Her old commander. The man who led the world through the Omnic Crisis and years after. And he's... He's...

Her pistols are training steadily on Reaper's head, and she feels an itchy trigger finger moment. "You get away from him," she commands, voice uncharacteristically steely and even. Reaper hums noncommittally, uncaring for the deceptively powerful weapons aimed at him. "No problem," he replies coolly, dissolving into his characteristic smoke, and ghosting away. 

Before the last of his nanite cloud leaves the room, Tracer throws her pistols to the side and runs to Gabe, hoping against all odds that it wasn't what it looked like. Her arms wrap protectively around his neck, pulling the man to her chest in a teary-eyed embrace. The Brit forces her shaky hand up to the comm link in her ear. "D-doc? You there?" There's a brief moment of static until Mercy replies. "I'm with Reinhardt and Zar- Tracer? Lena, what happened?" Lena grips tighter to the jacket that's become such a welcome sight when Overwatch calls for reinforcements. "That's... I'm in the office buildin' on the west side. Second floor." Angela curses into the comm. "I'll be there as soon as I can. What's the damage?" 

"G...Gabe."

\-----

There's bright light. Blindingly white light that punches through his eyelids. It hurts, and it's annoying as all fuck.

Gabriel groans, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. Hell shouldn't be so bright. Where's dear old Lucifer to take him to his little corner to be tortured? Or... Gabe's hand squeezes the sides of his own face. He still feels warm. Is he-

The vigilante shoots up, flinching at the crinkle of paper. He's alive. _Alive_. But there's no way. It was impossible that Reaper would've taken him to a hospital or some other Talon equivalent. There was no way in hell he would have taken him back to Overwatch. And if he did, then Jack was quite frankly the dumbest piece of shit on this or any other earth. Gabe patted his abdomen in an attempt to find the gaping hole that was _supposed_ to kill him, but only makes it to the realization that his jacket and underclothing has been removed before the door bursts open. 

"Gabe!" Lena immediately wraps her arms around the man's neck and proceeds to squeeze out of him what little life remains. He tries to squeeze her arm to let her know he's about to collapse from lack of air, but she cheerily blows him off, hugging tighter. "L-Lena, you're k-killing me, _mija_ ," Gabriel manages to squeeze out from his abused windpipe. Lena loosens her embrace the smallest of increments, just enough to let him breathe. Marching in right after her is the dreaded doctor herself. Her steely blue eyes reveal nothing but trouble for him. "Good to see you've recovered, Gabriel," Angela stiffly greets. 

She sits herself on a small chair to the side. Gabe is curious as to why she hasn't launched into a "Why did you think you could have taken Reaper alone", "We could have helped you", whatever-she-felt-like lecture yet. Lena finally released him - for how thin she was, she had one hell of a crushing grip - and slowly backed away, a sad smile on her happy face. She went to stand by the door, giving room for the doctor to go to work. 

"Gabriel," she began again, tersely, "I'm inclined, at the moment, to thoroughly..." Angela inhales deeply and then continues in a ruthlessly, hilariously soft voice, "kick your ass. However, we don't currently have the time for that. All I want to know as far as obscuring your identity is who you wish to share it with. You know Lena and I will keep it secret, but it might cause others to cease assisting Overwatch, namely Genji and Jesse, who are currently two of our best and most consistent agents we have. I'd like to know who you trust and who you allow to know your true identity." Gabe sighed, beginning to wave in a vague gesture. "Everyone from the old crew. Torb, Rein, Winston, whoever. None of the new ones, and definitely not McCree or Shimada."

The doctor nods, turns to scribble something down on a clipboard, then turns back around to face him again. "Gabriel, I also need to know what happened with Reaper. Lena told me he wounded you, but she wouldn't say anything more until I tended to you myself." Reaper. God damn Jack. Gabe wants to have a childish temper tantrum because Jack somehow _failed_ to kill him. The bastard always said, every time they clashed on the battlefield, _Your luck's gonna run out one of these days, Reyes. Just you wait. Because I'll be there when it does._ And it did. But...

"He shot me." Gabe knows that he should be dead. Knows that it's downright _unfair_ that he's not. But if he's alive, he's gotta push through it, just like always. "At point-blank." There's a small gasp from Angela. "I started bleeding out. And I _should have_ died," he forces out through gritted teeth, glaring at Lena and Angela both, "But I suppose it didn't take." He wants to say more, some poetic speech like what he used to do, about how it wasn't fair for Lena and Angela to save him without his knowledge or permission, or how stupid it was that Reaper couldn't finish the fucking job, but all that comes out instead is a regretful and resigned sigh. 

Angela clears her throat for attention, and Gabriel gives her the service of looking away from his own hands. "I'd like to show you something, Gabriel," she says, eyes darting to and fro as per her nervous state. "But it _must_ stay in this room." No further argument comes, so she stands, walks over to a specimen terminal, and pulls out a Petri dish of blood. More than that, there were obvious specks of black in the tiny puddle. They looked like they were moving, too. It didn't come as much of a surprise to Gabe - nanites have been in his blood and body since he was in his twenties. Forty years doesn't change that much. "O...kay?" Gabe and Lena practically trail off at the same moment. Angela is torn between huffing in annoyance and giggling at how much Lena took after Gabriel. She opts to keep a neutral face. With a slight (and melodramatic) flourish, Angela withdraws a syringe from her counter, barely peeks open the dish in her hand, grabs a small sample, and then hurriedly shuts it again. 

At Lena and Gabriel's questioning looks, she simply shrugs and says, "They're jumpy." Which doesn't help in the slightest, but... Gabe and Lena glance at each other and simultaneously mutter, "Doctors." Angela squeezes the drop of blood between a pair of slides and slips it under a microscope. A switch flips for a holo-projector to display on the opposite wall. It showed a lot of red ovals squished together, but about half of them were consumed or being consumed by black dots. The infected red cells seem to cluster together in little islands, which were most likely what was causing the blots of black in the Petri dish. "Great. Nanites. What's new? I've had them in me since SEP, fuck-ton decades ago. Why-"

"Because they aren't _yours_ , Gabriel." Angela interrupts. "Your nanites have a distinct signature, and they have a drastically different appearance and behavior. _Your_ nanites look and act much more...mild." She clicks something on her tablet and the projection transitions to a different blood cell, under similar condition, except its symbiotic partner is, as Angela put it, more mild. The black cell-like bodies were smaller, seemingly floating alongside the blood cells without touching them. The first set had been actively consuming his cells; these just seem to be calmly hovering alongside them. "These nanites... They belong to Reaper, Gabriel. They're what kept you alive. They multiply at an amazingly fast rate, and they've made your regenerative abilities ten times more effective." Angela seems to squirm in her place for a moment of silence. 

"If you'd like, I can try to deactivate them, but I'm not sure if they've overwritten your original nanites or... I've never seen this before. I need to know what you want me to do about them." Gabe sits in silence, mulling over the information he'd just been presented with. Willingly or not, Jack's nanites have moved into his own body. They saved his life. They've made his healing ten times better. But what would possess Jack to do that? It had to have been by design. Jack's nanites wouldn't just float into any living thing within close radius... What was he doing?

"Just leave them. If it becomes a problem, I'll be back." And hopefully it wouldn't turn out the way he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all you guys who like this series by the first work! Next installment will be better, I promise.


End file.
